


To Take A Fall

by MomentarilySane



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brothers, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MomentarilySane/pseuds/MomentarilySane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is distraught to hear about Sherlock's supposed suicide. That is, until he realizes Sherlock is right where John left him, and quite decidedly not dead. </p>
<p>Someone faked Sherlock's death, but it wasn't Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Take A Fall

“Oh god, Sherlock!” John cried with relief. Sherlock was just where he left him a day ago, lounged in a chair of the abandoned lab they were hiding in. They had split up, both to keep police off their tails as well as to try and figure out the whole mess with more efficiency.

 

Something about the way John entered, tensed as if waiting for disaster, caused Sherlock to snap from his thoughts and focus all his attention on his friend. “You're distressed, but more so then before, why? What have you found out?”

 

“That you're dead,” John snapped, his relief wearing off.

 

“John, that's absurd, I'm right here,” Sherlock sighed, reclining back in his seat. While incredibly unlikely, it appeared John was exhibiting symptoms of shock.

 

“Well, this disagrees!” John growled while tossing the newspaper he had been clutching in his hand. Though wrinkled and creased from his sweaty palms, the headline was quite clear. _Suicide of Fake Genius._

 

“This doesn't make sense,” Sherlock growled while reading through the lines. It was one line that caught his eye, _Atop the roof of St. Bartholomew they discovered the body of Richard Brook, source of the recent article 'The Truth About Sherlock Holmes.'_ At this point Sherlock jumped up and began pacing the room.

 

“Well? What's going on?” John demanded, watching his friends movements closely for signs.

 

“Moriarty was there. To confront _me_ , no doubt. Someone else showed up, from the newspaper clearly a look-a-like, but Moriarty is clever. The look-a-like would have to be spot on, but it couldn't of just been anyone. Moriarty would have noticed, so it had to be someone who knew me personally a great deal, who could mimic me flawlessly. Someone who has known me for a long time but kept in touch recently to be up to date with what's go... no,” the last word was only a breathe that John would have missed had he not been hanging off of every word.

 

“No? No what, Sherlock? Keep me in the loop before you go,” with that Sherlock was out the door, missing the “-running off.” John grumbled a few colourful words before running off after him. Sherlock was careful to keep to the shadows, either given the fugitive status or the dead status was irrelevant, and John stuck close behind.

 

Near the end he began to recognize the path to Mycroft's office. This was really only registered as they snuck in the back door. Their presence was announced as Sherlock dramatically slammed through the door, causing Mycroft to actually jump. Even John could see that Mycroft was having a hard time, but before he could make any inferences off this Sherlock interrupted with an ambiguous “Where is he?”

 

“Sherlock, as convinced as you are, I'm not truly omnipotent,” Mycroft spoke in his normal calm manner, hiding how shaken up he was.

 

Nevertheless, Sherlock was not amused and simply ground out “You know who and what I mean.” Sherlock slammed down the paper. John watched the headline crack Mycroft's mask, but unrelenting Sherlock continued “Now where is he?”

 

“I never thought – never dreamed – that he'd do it, let alone succeed,” Mycroft trailed off and John welcomed the familiar feeling of being two steps behind in the conversation.

 

“But you threw him at Moriarty anyway, no regard for his safety of well being, no trust that I could solve this on my own. Christ, you'd always tried to push him away and it seems this time you've succeeded indefinitely,” contempt practically dripped from each of Sherlock's words.

 

“It wasn't my idea!” Mycroft snapped, before taking a deep breath. “Believe it or not, it wasn't my idea. I tried to dissuade him in fact, but you know how he gets with things. Like a dog with a bone, won't let it go no matter how many times he gets kicked,” Mycroft delivered with his eyes closed, as if trying to block it out.

 

“As long as your conscience buys that story,” Sherlock growled before storming out of the room. John hung back for only a moment more, unable to look away as Mycroft's carefully constructed mask broke piece by piece.

 

When the feeling that he was intruding finally hit him he turned to leave. He was surprised to be stopped by Mycroft's voice. “John,” his name sounded like a plea “Can you please give this to him. Tell him it's from Martin,” Mycroft sighed, holding out a blank envelope.

 

John took it before retreating out the door after Sherlock. He found him just around the corner, his breathing deep and loud as if he was trying to restrain himself. As John approached he could see Sherlock's eyes zero in on the envelope. Figuring the sender would be obvious he simple asked “Who's Martin?”

 

“The man who died in my place,” Sherlock answered mechanically, eyes never leaving the letter, an internal debate visible on his face.

 

“I figured, but _who_ is he? Why would he do such a thing, and why were you and Mycroft speaking of him in that way?” John insisted, growing irritable.

 

“He _was_ a stubborn idiot who cared more for others than himself, mostly because he deemed his life to be of no importance and himself to be a failure. I'm not going to get into how to measure the importance of a life, but he wasn't a failure. He knew what he wanted and he accepted no less and in the end, he did get what he wanted. He was more of a brother to me than Mycroft and he only shared half my DNA.” With that, Sherlock snatched the letter from Johns stunned hands and turned to continue down the hall.

 

“He was you're brother? You have a second brother?” John stammered out while racing to catch up.

 

“ _Had_ a second brother _,_ and half-brother John, honestly you need to listen,” Sherlock snapped, but John brushed it off.

 

“Why did you never bring him up?” John questioned.

 

“Because he never came up,” was the curt reply. It threw John off for a moment before he realized. _'He was more of a brother to me than Mycroft'_

 

“You loved him,” he blurted as the thought hit him.

 

“Fraternally, of course. He accepted me, actually genuinely liked me and didn't try to control my life,” Sherlock responded off handedly.

 

“Why did I never meet him?” was John's finally question.

 

“You did, actually. Well, not directly. It was for a case a few months ago and we had to fly to America. He was the captain, if you'll remember. _'Captain Martin Crieff'_ That airline, MJN Air, went down just last month and... oh, of course!” Sherlock practically shouted the last word. He turned and placed his hands on Johns shoulders.

 

“All he ever wanted to be was a pilot, he took his CPL several times because he kept failing. After an obscene amount he finally got it, but no respectable airline would hire him due to his failures, let alone make him captain. The only one was MJN, and when they went out of business – at least in his eyes – the meaning of his life was gone” the thrill of figuring it out quickly melted from Sherlock's face as the implications sunk in. “Oh Martin,” he groaned “You should have visited. Done or said something!”

 

“So, figuring his life had no meaning, his last act was to save yours so you could continue doing your work,” John concluded.

 

Sherlock had turned away once more, opening up the envelope. “He would always drop everything to help me,” Sherlock sighed with a shake of his head. He eased the letter out while continuing, “Whenever I needed his help I would send him a text say-” before cutting off.

 

There was a moment of silence before Sherlock bolted down the hall, abandoning the letter in haste. John picked it up.

 

_Sherlock,_

 

_St. Barts_

 

_Come at once if convenient._

 

_If inconvenient, come anyways._

 

_Martin_

 

John recognized the phrase from a text Sherlock sent him when they first met. Instantly, he recognized the significance and rushed after Sherlock.

 

Following Sherlock's mental map of all the side streets, it took them no time to reach the hospital, even while attempting to avoid detection. Martin hadn't specified in the letter where to go, but Sherlock didn't seem to miss a beat before heading straight down to the morgue. As they were approaching the door, John heard two voices coming from the room. One he knew well to be Molly's, and the other was distinctly familiar, yet wrong at the same time.

 

“I'm telling you, I'm not Sherlock!” the familiar voice seemed a mix of desperate and exasperated.

 

“Sure thing, and I'm telling you that you should probably lay down and let me check for a concussion,” Molly's voice took on a more demanding quality that was rare to hear from her.

 

John would have liked to see who would win this fight, but Sherlock didn't waste time barging into the room. Inside the room, a man that John could only assume to be Martin – as he looked nearly identical to Sherlock – was standing on one side of a table, looking flustered and as though he was using it as a shield. Molly was on the opposite side acting as if Martin was a scared rabbit she was trying to coax out. Both heads snapped up at the door opening. Molly's face crinkled in confusion while Martin seemed to cheer immediately.

 

Unintentionally using Molly's shock, he bolted around the table and rushed over catching Sherlock in a hug. John had to keep his jaw from dropping when Sherlock actually accepted and returned the hug. “Sherlock?!” Molly exclaimed as her eyes flickered between the two.

 

“Yes, of course. Molly this is my brother Martin, Martin this is my pathologist Molly,” Sherlock mumbled, slightly uncomfortable as he pulled away from Martin.

 

“You're not Sherlock?” she whispered.

 

“That's what I was trying to explain!” Martin huffed.

 

“Oh! I'm so sorry, it's just Sherlock and I had developed this plan and I thought you were him but something went wrong and you were injured and I didn't mean to cause a problem,” she trailed off at the end, unsure of where to go but Martin quickly shook his head.

 

“Not to worry, it was really my fault. I hadn't really a plan and was just making it up as I went, you were trying to do your job as a pathologist and a friend to Sherlock, it's really all quite alright,” Martin returned in a manner that had John confused. He looked every part of Sherlock, but how he conducted himself and spoke were so off that John's brain was having a hard time processing it.

 

“Yes, yes, everyone's sorry, everyone has apologized,” Sherlock cut in, giving John something to focus on aside from Martin. “Martin, what were you thinking? You could have gotten yourself killed!”

 

“I was thinking better a failed airline pilot than the world's only consulting detective. Worst case, I would have died but you'd still be alive to do your job and protect people. Best case, I live and you continue doing that anyways!” Martin shrugged.

 

Sherlock sighed before pulling Martin into another hug, reassuring himself that Martin was still alive and ever the aggravating little brother with a frustratingly low self-esteem. “By the way, I think I won,” Martin mumbled into Sherlocks shoulder.

 

Sherlock pulled away in confusion. “Won what?”

 

“Our game of who could scare Mycroft the most. I definitely won,” he announced, to the shock of the other two occupants of the room. Sherlock, however, just rolled his eyes. Yup, aggravating little brother.


End file.
